


you and i could have been a team

by the_professional_cutemeister



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: F/M, i wrote this in like one go pls bear with me, modern day AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-15
Updated: 2014-05-15
Packaged: 2018-01-24 22:29:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1619264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_professional_cutemeister/pseuds/the_professional_cutemeister
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Mikasa and Eren break up and make up regularly, and Jean Kirschstein is left longing after a girl who only sleeps with him when she's sad.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you and i could have been a team

**Author's Note:**

> So I wrote a Jeankasa thing inspired by an Arctic Monkeys song (link below!)
> 
> This was actually supposed to be a lot shorter but what the hell.

_When the zeroes line up on the twenty-four hour clock_

_When you know who’s calling even though the number is blocked_

_When you walked around your house wearing my sky blue Lacoste_

_And your[knee socks](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0YAayfya_M0&feature=kp)_

* * *

 

_Bzzt. Bzzt._

Mikasa Ackerman opened her eyes at the incessant buzzing coming from her sidetable. Her phone screen’s dim glow was the first thing that entered her vision, the neon green numbers on her alarm clock second.

She sat up and flicked on her bedside lamp, the yellow light momentarily hurting her eyes. Grabbing her phone, she noticed that the insistent vibrations were notifying her of a call from an unnamed number. She glanced at her clock.

_Zero-zero, zero-zero._

She didn’t need their contact number to know who was calling.

Mikasa hesitated for a moment, then swiped her finger to the green ‘Accept Call’ button.

"Hello?"

The greeting was hastily whispered, but hung in the air of her tiny bedroom for minutes even after it was uttered, sounding much too loud in the silent apartment.

"Hey, Mikasa," the person finally answered, and Mikasa felt her heart clench at the familiar voice on the other end. She didn’t immediately reply, and they continued.

"Did I wake you up?"

She blinked slowly. “No. What do you need?”

"I could ask you the same thing," they answered. "I… heard about what happened with Eren."

Mikasa’s insides turned to ice at the mention of her currently ex-boyfriend. Just a few days before, they’d had a terrible fight about something that stemmed from something completely innocuous. She’d slammed her fist on his dining table, he yelled at her, she yelled back, and he shouted at her with a ferocity she’d not seen before (and, knowing Eren, that would have been pretty damn mad.)

Afterwards, he crumpled to the floor, and she was leaning over the kitchen counter, and they both had tears in their eyes. She could hear his sobs louder than her own, and his tears flowed down his cheeks, while she bit her lip and willed them not to fall as her shoulders shook with the effort.

Finally, they both stood up straight, and Mikasa tried to look Eren in the eye, but seeing his face only made her want to cry again. She grabbed her bag, yanked her sweater off of his coat rack, and was out the door in a matter of seconds.

She hadn’t left her apartment since. Armin had called her, as did Historia, though she already knew Armin had talked to Eren first and Historia did so out of her own common kindness.

There was water gathering at the corners of her eyes at the memory.

"…How did you know?" she asked, and the voice on the phone sighed.

"Marco told me," they replied, and she wondered how Marco knew, but didn’t bother asking.

"Anyway, I was just wondering if… if you might want me to come over, or…"

The voice trailed off, but Mikasa didn’t bother to let them finish.

"Please," she said, and they said "Okay," and then the line went dead.

Not fifteen minutes later, Jean Kirschstein was in her doorway, with a jacket and a pair of jeans thrown on over his pyjamas. He barely managed to say hello before Mikasa wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him hard, pulling him into her bedroom and slamming the door behind them. She took no time in pulling off his shirt, letting her hands roam over the familiar planes of his chest.

Once inside, he stopped her for a moment.

"Mikasa…" he murmured, his eyes downcast. "Are you sure—?"

"Shut up, Jean," she said, and lowered her head to press her lips to his neck.

It wasn’t her first time sharing a bed with Jean Kirschstein, the man who lived three floors below her and down the hall from Eren. The first time they’d had sex was also the first time she and Eren had broke up, and she was so devastated that she had drowned herself in absinthe at the nearest pub. Jean was working the bar that night, and before either of them knew what was happening they were pressed against each other in the bathroom stall, her leg hitched over his hip, his teeth at her collarbone, their hands all over each other.

That was last year. Since then, they’d alternated apartments for their discreet rendezvous. Mikasa knew she was just using him as a rebound fuck whenever she and Eren had a fight, but she chose to ignore her growing guilt in favour of the heat pooling in between her thighs and the strong hands that pulled off her clothes and knew all the right places to touch her.

She moaned as he took her earlobe into his mouth, his teeth scraping at the small bit of sensitive flesh. Mikasa was on fire and she needed Jean to fuel her flame.

"Mikasa," Jean said half an hour later.

The dark-haired woman cracked open her eyes at the mention of her name. She had almost fallen asleep; this time, the sex was fast, hard, and had left the both of them hot and sweaty despite the cold winter night.

"What?"

He was still sitting up. His profile was illuminated by the flamelike yellowish lamplight from her side table. She could see his chest heaving, the faint glisten of sweat on his skin.

"How long is this going to go on for?" he asked. "After the first few times I promised myself I wouldn’t—"

"Wouldn’t what?" Mikasa asked irritably. She was too tired to have this conversation now.

"…" Jean didn’t continue. He was adept at reading Mikasa’s moods now, in spite of her proclivity to keep them stored and her expression neutral.

"Never mind. Go back to sleep."

The next morning, Jean found himself alone in Mikasa’s bed. He searched the floor, but some of his clothes were missing.

Pulling on his boxers and jeans, he stepped out of her bedroom to find Mikasa sitting on the couch with her knees pulled up to her chest, wearing his T-shirt and a pair of tall striped socks. Her red scarf was wrapped around her neck. As he walked towards her, she looked up at him, and when he sat down beside her, she looked away.

"Eren called," she said. Jean turned to her, silently questioning.

"He wants to come over," she said, "or invite me out. He said he wants to apologise and make it up to me."

"And?" Jean asked. "What did you say?"

She pulled her scarf over her nose.  _The scarf he gave her,_  Jean thought. She’d told him the story a few months before, when he asked why she always wore the thing. Eren had given it to her on their first autumn date.

"I told him I’d meet him at the Chinese restaurant near the park," she said. Her voice was muffled by the scarf, the rest of her face obscured by her black hair. Jean noticed that she’d cut it shorter than when he last saw it several weeks ago.

Though he had already anticipated her answer, he couldn’t deny the sinking feeling in his heart. His insides had turned to ice and his eyes grew hot.

"Okay," he said. "Th-that’s good."

Mikasa nodded. “Yeah. I guess.” She glanced sideways at Jean. “Sorry.”

"It’s fine," he said, nearly forcing out his words. His throat felt like it was closing up.

"I guess I should change," she said, and stood up. "And… here’s your shirt."

She unwound the scarf from her neck and slipped out of Jean’s too-big T-shirt, exposing her bra and a pair of shorts. She handed the shirt back and walked into her bedroom, closing the door without looking at him.

Jean felt pathetic, tears threatening to spill from his eyes and his chest tight while he was sitting in Mikasa Ackerman’s living room. He could no longer count the times he’d held her while she was broken up over Eren, but he had never once seen her cry. She was inscrutable.

He wanted to call what he did with her making love, but he knew that he wasn’t anything more than a convenient fuck who came running when she let him. She was in love with Eren, somehow, and he thought that her deciding to put up with the guy was downright masochistic. And somehow, Eren made her happy. Jean couldn’t understand why.

When Mikasa came out of her bedroom, fully dressed, Jean stood, with his fingernails digging into his palms. He hadn’t let his tears fall.

"I guess I’ll see you… Jean." Mikasa whispered. She drew her scarf over her nose again.

"Mikasa… I…"

"Goodbye, Jean," she said, and walked out the door. The sound of it closing was horribly, terribly final, and Jean couldn’t help but think that it was the perfect symbolic bullshit for his life at that moment.

Shrugging on his jacket, he put on his shoes in the hallway, and left Mikasa’s apartment by himself, locking her door behind him.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! 
> 
> Follow me on tumblr at the-professional-cutemeister.tumblr.com


End file.
